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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375700">Dear Frank</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties'>sadsparties</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Fic, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Furniture Shopping, Multi, Party Like It's 1844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:15:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When James is called away, it’s up to Frank and Ann to make their new house a home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francis Crozier/Ann Coulman Ross, Francis Crozier/Ann Coulman Ross/James Clark Ross, Francis Crozier/James Clark Ross</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Terror Rarepair Week 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dear Frank</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for the prompt: a missed opportunity</p><p>welcome to my garbage truck. close the hatch on your way in. no you're never coming out! xoxo</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Dear Frank”, the letter began. “You know me to be a man of my word and although I have said that neither Heaven nor Hell can prevent me from being with my darling Ann, it seems that even the supernatural forces of the world are no match for Old Sabine. The Captain is fervent in his “Magnetic Crusade”, and although I wonder how our records taken six seasons ago would still be of worth to this day, I cannot possibly decline his entreaty that I extend my stay. </p><p>“Pray confer my apologies to my dearest that she must endure my absence for a fortnight more. I trust that together you will be able to contrive various amusements with which to indulge yourselves while I am gone, as well as furnish our house according to your combined tastes. You need not fear, my friend, for Ann has a keen eye and her own mind, and should you find yourself overwhelmed you may trust her to take the reins without much effort.</p><p>“Best wishes, Frank &amp; with a saint’s patience &amp; a promise to find myself once again sharing a hearth with the two people I cherish most I am, </p><p>Yours most truly, </p><p>Jas Ross.”</p><p>“Well then,” said Ann goodnaturedly from across the breakfast table. Their eyes met over their own letters. “Shall we go to the gallery first?”</p><p>Francis regarded his toast and contemplated having to meet people outside. “Must we?” </p><p>Ann merely laughed and stood from the table. She cinched her dressing gown and bent to kiss the top of Francis’s head.</p><p>“I’m afraid so, Frank dear,” she said, then went upstairs to dress. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>⛵</p><p> </p><p>They arrived in the art-house not an hour later, and for all Francis’s earlier fussing the place was almost deserted. A young man regarded them from afar, warily at first, before plucking up the courage to call their attention.</p><p>“Lady Anne” he greeted as he approached them. “I’m afraid Mr. Wallace has been detained, but we’ve prepared a collection for you as you requested.”</p><p>Ann and Francis were led to a sizable red room with muted sunlight pouring from above. Francis took in the many paintings hanging on the walls, large and gilted and oppressive, and wondered how on earth he could be of use here.</p><p>“Go on,” Ann said beside him. “Take a turn about and see if you fancy anything.”</p><p>“It’s James who should be here. I’ve no notion of art.”</p><p>Ann looked at him bemusedly, as if he had said something silly. “I assure you, Frank. You’re quite enough.”</p><p>With a parting smile she left Francis to roam at his leisure, and he ambled in the opposite direction until a painting caught his eye. It was a depiction of a full moon amongst clouds, perfectly peaceful were it not for the precarious situation that lay beneath it. Two sailboats struggled to keep afloat in the tremulous sea, their rigging in tatters and a lone lamp to guide their way. In the distance, like harbingers of death, were ominous rocks.</p><p>“Ah, a Turner.” </p><p>Francis whirled round to find the fresh-faced startup who had greeted them at the door. He seemed to be no more than twenty, clearly new and trying to impress. He said, “Mr. Wallace would not easily part with it but I am sure he might be convinced, for the right price.”</p><p>“What’s that now?” </p><p>Francis whirled round and nearly elbowed Ann.</p><p>“My dear,” he implored. “Pray don’t do that.” </p><p>The lad beamed and gestured to the painting. “Sir James and I were only discussing the Turner, Lady Anne. He has excellent taste.”</p><p>At this, Ann’s brows lifted to her forehead. A wicked gleam shone on her eyes and Francis figured that he ought to curtail whatever fancy she was starting to attach herself to. “Now see here—” </p><p>“Yes, indeed,” Ann said, and Francis could practically feel the buzz of elation in her voice. “My husband’s tastes are superior to most, if I do say so myself.”</p><p>The young man politely chuckled, and for a wild moment Francis thought that the pipsqueak knew what Francis’s mouth had been up to for most of the previous night. Reason prevailed, however, and Francis was able to compose himself and smile magnanimously at Ann’s compliment.</p><p>She took hold of Francis’s arm, the very picture of a doting wife, and asked, “Will it look well in our parlour, do you think?” </p><p>Francis followed her gaze to the painting and said, “A bit gloomy to greet guests with.”</p><p>Ann let out a hum and studied the painting closely. Her eyes darted up and down and her teeth bit the plump of her lip, so similar to James when he was deciphering his own atrocious script that Francis could not help but smile.</p><p>“A bit dour, yes, but I daresay it reminds me of you,” Anne said, locking eyes with Francis. “When I look at this painting I can’t help but wonder who these men were and why they sailed out, what they were seeking, and if it was worth the risk of never coming home.”</p><p>Francis’s heart dropped to his belly. He suddenly wished that he and Ann were alone, that he might gather her in his arms, press his forehead to hers, and breathe her in. Instead, he contented himself with holding her hand. “Was that what you were thinking? When we were gone?”</p><p>“A bit,” Ann said with a smile, “but I never begrudged you for going.” </p><p>She squeezed Francis’s hand, and with that slightest of gestures, dispelled all thoughts of guilt and doubt from Francis’s mind. “Besides,” she added, “I always knew that you would return to me.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>☕</p><p> </p><p>The painting was only the first item in their slate. The rest of the day was spent visiting various establishments in order to purchase, among others, a potted plant, a set of linens, an armchair with a matching stool, a gift for James, and ribbons for Ann’s hair. </p><p>Francis was alarmed at the rate that they were acquiring new possessions. He was used to fitting his whole life into two drawers, and he feared that the moment he could not pack all his belongings in a sea chest was when he would never sail again.</p><p>Their last endeavour of the day was a ceramic tea set. This led them to a shop in Picadilly where Ann spent the better part of a half hour in cheerful conference with the proprietor.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Francis said.</p><p>“How do you mean?” Ann turned to him as the proprietor went to the back of the shop with her instructions.</p><p>“Why do you need another tea set when we have a silver one at home?”</p><p>Francis and Ted Bird had scoured this very street for a wedding gift to their captain. They had settled on dinnerware immediately, but were unsure as to the kind until Ted spotted the old set in a tucked up corner of a shop. They had arranged for it to be refurbished and engraved, and when they had presented it to Ann, she had proclaimed it thoughtful and lovely. Francis would hate to discover that in all this time, the gift had been found wanting.</p><p>“Oh! No, Frank dear. Yours is for special occasions only.” </p><p>Ann placed an appeasing hand on Francis’s chest, such a tender gesture that Francis wondered how on earth he could ever doubt her. </p><p>“This one is for regular use and is free to be mishandled as we see fit. James would be furious should your gift suffer so much as a scratch. It’s his favourite, you know.”</p><p>Francis’s brows rose to his hair. “It is?”</p><p>“‘Tis. He simply adores the engraving of his crest. Whenever his uncle visited, he would order it polished and brought out.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>💧</p><p> </p><p>A few days later came the arrival of invitations to a winter gala. Francis was not one to inhabit such crowded places, especially without James, but Ann was raring to debut her new ribbons. </p><p>By the time they arrived the dancing was already in full swing. Anne managed to pull Francis to the dance-floor with little need for convincing. They began with a waltz, sweeping across the room with ease, then to a polka, which left Francis panting. After plying themselves with wine they joined with other pairs for the more intricate quadrille.</p><p>Never had Francis behaved so gayly in a reception before. He was usually to be found near the exit doors while nursing a drink. In such occasions where he had to mingle, such as the ball they had held in Hobart, Francis had disappeared halfway through the night and emerged in the morning with a debilitating stomach flu.</p><p>But he was different with Ann, as he was different with James—but in another way entirely. Francis had never tried to compare them for in his mind they were two halves of one person. They delighted in the same things, laughed at the same time, and there were days when Francis woke from their bed and marvelled at how two beings so intertwined could accommodate a third.</p><p>“Frank?”</p><p>“Yes, dear?”</p><p>“You were far away.”</p><p>A tinge of concern formed in Ann’s expression, and Francis sought to quell it immediately. He bid hunger as an excuse and offered to get something from the refreshments-table, whereupon he met their host and extended his good wishes.</p><p>Francis had last seen Sir George Lyon on the deck of the <em> Griper </em>in ‘24. He had grown portly and even more whiskered in retirement, to the extent that his mouth could hardly be distinguished from the wilderness that was his beard. Like many Arctic veterans, Lyon considered himself an expert in the polar regions, regardless of having been only in one. He proceeded to launch on a gentle reproof of James’s handling of the expedition, providing no support to his claims and getting on Francis’s nerves, until something shiny caught his eye.</p><p>“I say, old boy!” he exclaimed. “Is that a beetle wing tie pin?”</p><p>Blinking, Francis looked down at his neck cloth, where the tie pin that Ann had presented him that morning shimmered at each movement. The pin was the ordinary sort with a teardrop shape, but Francis had to admit that its iridescent green face looked well in the lamplight.</p><p>He smiled and said, “A kind gift from Lady Ann.” </p><p>Lyon shot an assessing gaze across the hall, where Ann was in jovial discussion with Lyon’s wife. She threw her head back and laughed, and the ribbons on her hair shifted like tufts of grass in the wind. They were a dark forest green.</p><p>“A pity that Sir James had to be parted so soon from his wife,” Lyon said over the cresting music.</p><p>“‘Tis.”</p><p>“He must be grateful that his lady is in good company.”</p><p>Were it any other man, Francis would have vehemently denied it—only Sir George Lyon had an infamous reputation for supposedly having nestled with a Netsilik guide and his wives during a cold night in Igloolik, to say nothing of the dog.</p><p>“If any kindness is being done it is towards myself,” Francis said. </p><p>The ladies joined their company and Francis was quick to make the introductions. Somehow, in the flurry of how-do’s and general pleasantries, Lyon had managed to put his name in Ann’s dance card. Francis watched them like a buzzard as they twirled about the floor in perfect grace. Lyon was an accomplished dancer—there was no doubt of that—but Francis liked to think that while Lyon was better able to lead his partner into a three-turn, Ann was notably happier in Francis’s arms. </p><p>In fact, the more closely he watched them, the more Ann seemed to be in distress. She looked pale and drawn amidst the swathes of colour, and when the dance ended, she swayed on her feet.</p><p>Francis cursed inwardly as he strode towards them. With a devious smirk, Lyon pressed a kiss to Ann’s hand and slithered away to inconvenience the rest of his guests. </p><p>“Ann?” Francis called out gently.</p><p>Upon hearing her name, Ann turned her head, and it was only then that Francis noticed the flush on her face, the heaviness of her breaths, and the way her pupils had grown large despite the bright lights in the room.</p><p>“Frank. Let’s go home,” she said.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>💺</p><p> </p><p>“Really,” Francis hissed as Ann caressed the inside of his thigh. “What on earth did he say to you?”</p><p>The landau jostled as it speedily carried its occupants towards Blackheath. Inside, Francis struggled to contain his groans as Ann nipped at the skin behind his ear.</p><p>“You should’ve heard him, Frank,” Anne breathed against his skin. “Oh, I could barely make out the things he said but it was so vivid I thought I would faint.”</p><p>Francis’s eyes widened. “What kind of things?”</p><p>“He said he’d seen you. During a masquerade ball.” Anne pressed open-mouthed kisses to the divots in Francis’s cheek. “He heard a rustling behind the sheets of canvass and as he turned a corner he saw—”</p><p>Francis grunted as Ann kneaded at his hardening prick.</p><p>“You and James in congress, frigging each other while Sir William was but a few feet away—is that true?”</p><p>Lord, that was decades ago. And entirely true. If Lyon had indeed seen them and kept his discretion then he was well entitled to picking apart all their future voyages. </p><p>Francis and James had been less careful then, having gone without it for so long, and as the men grew jovial and rowdy, James had thrown himself at Francis and rode him to the tune of popular Scottish reels.</p><p>“And you like that, do you?” Francis muttered under his breath. “You wish you could have joined us. But Thot dear, you were a bairn then.” </p><p>Francis laughed as Ann keened against his neck.</p><p>They ended up in the parlour, where several of their new purchases were still strewn haphazardly. The Turner was on one side, waiting to be nailed up in the morning, and the new wingback chair had been positioned near the fireplace.</p><p>Francis hastily rekindled the fire, and when he was done, Ann had merely to shove him backward to the armchair where she could sit astride him. She settled on a hurried pace, her motions causing the wingback’s legs to scrape against the carpeted floor.</p><p>“Tell me,” Ann begged. “Tell me more.”</p><p>Francis placed his hands on Ann’s waist and met her thrust for thrust. “He was insatiable,” Francis wheezed. “After he came, he pushed me to my back, rucked up his petticoats, and let me fuck him ‘til I begged to come. Just like someone I know.”</p><p>“Oh, Frank. <em> Frank. </em>”</p><p>
  <em> “James.” </em>
</p><p>Ann’s breath hitched, and Francis made to pull her down to his prick.</p><p>“James, you’re so good,” he moaned. “So tight, tighter than any arse I’ve buggered. Let me come, please, please let me come, James, <em> James. </em>”</p><p>Ann shuddered savagely. Her shrill cry echoed in the empty room and Francis held her as she fell forward, completely winded.</p><p>“Whyever did that Hobart girl let you go?” Anne mumbled somewhere above Francis’s head. It sounded so much like the stray thoughts that one was not meant to say out loud that Francis could not help but giggle.</p><p>“No matter.” Anne braced herself on the back of the chair and rolled her hips forward. “You’re ours now.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>🐕</p><p> </p><p>James returned to Eliot Place at the appointed time, not a day earlier or later than promised, at which point Francis was so exhausted that he could not even be bothered to rise from their bed.</p><p>“Darling!” Ann called out from Francis’s bedside. She put away the breakfast tray on her lap and leapt into James’s arms, where general sounds of love and joy could then be heard. Francis groaned under the sheets.</p><p>“What’s this now?” James gingerly drew the blanket to reveal Francis’s head. “Are you feeling poorly, Frank?”</p><p>“He’ll be fine,” Ann said, practically glowing. “Especially now that you’ve returned. Isn’t that so, Frank?”</p><p>Francis groaned again. </p><p>He felt rather than heard James and Ann retreat from the room, and for a while longer Francis was left to enjoy the peaceful bosom of slumber. He was not entirely unconscious, for there were moments when he heard Ann’s squeal of delight, followed by James’s booming laugh, as well as a hurried flurrying across the halls by the moving men.</p><p>Francis was gradually returned to the land of the waking by a warm weight lying at his side. He smiled and shifted on the bed, reaching an arm out and burying his face into the familiar thicket of James’s hair.</p><p>“Say hello, Frank,” said James, from a distance.</p><p>Francis opened an eye and squinted to see James near the door, hands on waist and looking well pleased with himself. The creature sleeping beside him suddenly moved, and Francis yelped as he was overwhelmed by the tongue and paws of a very eager black dog. He tried to swat it away but the puppy was very eager indeed, and only by getting a hand under its chin and scratching it thoroughly could it be tamed.</p><p>“I’ve named her Fanny,” said James, “for that cat we used to have in <em> Erebus </em>.”</p><p>Francis held the puppy at arm’s length and tried to curb the cackle stirring inside him. “James dear,” he said. “It’s a boy.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The puppy, it’s a boy.”</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“Do you not see the bollocks? It’s a boy! A male dog!”</p><p>“Impossible! She’s Fanny!”</p><p>Francis laughed until his belly ached, and Ann arrived just in time to stop James from strangling him.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>+</p><p>💍</p><p> </p><p>The weeks passed, the days grew warmer, and winter ended with the freshness of spring showers. Rain pattered on the parlour windows as Francis settled in his favourite armchair. At his feet lay Neptune, drooling and as happy as any dog previously named ‘Fanny’ could be. It was an ordinary first of March, with nothing to disturb them and nothing to keep Francis from a peaceful afternoon nap.</p><p>Apart from the velvet box placed before him.</p><p>It was not that Francis had failed to see it coming. He had marked the furtive glances, the conversations cut short at his approach, and most notably, the silver tea set at breakfast this morning. But this was not in the purview at all of what he had imagined.</p><p>“Are you certain, James?” he asked.</p><p>To share a house and the comforts of a marriage bed was one thing, but whatever was in the box meant much more. It meant a promise, something he had tried to make and been twice rejected. It meant eternity, or close to it. </p><p>In truth, Francis had always thought it temporary, that the invitation would expire as soon as it was no longer convenient. He had fully expected to be chucked out to the streets eventually, unwanted and unloved, and had milked what happiness he could before the day came.</p><p>
  <em> “James.” </em>
</p><p>“Hold on, let me ask it.”</p><p>James slid from the settee and went down on one knee. He took the box from the low-table and opened it to reveal a golden signet ring. On the face was a menagerie of animals: a swarm of bees, a fox’s head, a lion rampant.</p><p>Francis chuckled. “Are we a zoo then?” </p><p>James grinned and lifted the ring to show the band. Inside was engraved “5th January 1844”, the date they had moved in at Eliot Place.</p><p>“James,” he had to ask again, “are you certain?”</p><p>James huffed in exasperation. “Now, Frank. That’s twice you’ve asked me now. Am I not kneeling before you? Are my joints not suffering for your sake? Even Ann didn’t let me wait this long, and she wasn’t even an old messmate. I would think that having known me for years, you would—”</p><p>James yelped as Francis silenced him with his mouth. He had a very pretty mouth and Francis relished to render it speechless. His arms flew to James’s neck, and with heavy handling Francis drew James closer until he was kneeling between Francis’s legs.</p><p>With great reluctance, they parted. James took stock of himself and pulled away, clearing his throat as he tried to remember what he had been in the middle of saying. He lifted the ring between them.</p><p>“Captain Francis Crozier,” he pronounced clearly. “Will you do us the honour of having you? For as long as we three shall live?”</p><p>Slowly, Francis ran his thumbs across the sharp plains of James’s cheeks. He thought back to the closet he used in their room upstairs, when he had looked upon it that morning and realised that in his dresser of ten drawers, he had somehow filled up three. He said, “Do you know what Ann said to me, when you were gone?”</p><p>James shook his head and Francis moved to kiss him again.</p><p>“I have excellent taste.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>seven months later, james coulman ross is born with a buttchin. francis does not go to italy, he retires from the navy, and they live happily ever after in buckinghamshire.</p><p><a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/turner-fishermen-at-sea-t01585">fishermen at sea</a> was first exhibited in francis's birth year</p><p><a href="https://indifferent-century.tumblr.com/post/622277887407570944/who-wants-to-help-transcribe-some-of-james-rosss">jcr’s handwriting</a> is.... not good</p><p><a href="https://laissezferre.tumblr.com/post/626295962979155968/a-historic-19th-c-english-sterling-and">frank and ted’s silver tea set</a> &lt;3</p><p>ah, victorians and their weird obsession for <a href="https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O1387342/dress/">beetle wings</a>!</p><p>
  <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/e5bdc5f6d7c6a95420673152074cbcaf/tumblr_pvaj29cfQi1rief6so4_400.gifv">this is what francis wore to the party btw</a>
</p><p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Francis_Lyon">george lyon</a> is a fascinating character and the polycule story (with the dog) is partially true! i highly recc “barrow’s boys” by fergus fleming for his full story.</p><p> <a href="https://handfuloftime.tumblr.com/post/627721373706485761/among-the-happy-returns-we-cannot-conclude">james had a habit of misgendering pets</a></p><p>take your pick of the coulman/coleman <a href="https://coadb.com/surnames/coleman-arms.html">crests</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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